


The Only Hope For Me Is You

by oh_mmrs



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Anxiety, Developing Relationship, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Schizophrenia, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 09:31:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5580389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_mmrs/pseuds/oh_mmrs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Patrick and Pete are in a mental institution, Patrick because his schizophrenia has gotten really bad, and Pete for a suicide attempt. Pete's a poet, and Patrick writes music for fun.  Trigger warning, mentions suicide. Brief mention of Co-authored with di-semiantiscocial on tumblr, go give him a follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter out of an unknown number, feedback is welcome. No beta, any and all mistakes are mine.

Pete swallowed, watching the room nervously. He wasn't crazy. He wasn't. He was just sad. Yes, he had slit his wrists. But being locked up in the fucking crazy hospital? No. He was in the corner, far away from people, with a fucking fine tip marker and paper. He had to write with a marker cause they thought he'd kill himself. A fucking marker. Patrick glanced around the room cautiously. First day, and he had no idea what the fuck he was doing. He wasn't fucking Hannibal or some shit. And he was too nervous to talk to anyone, anyway. He fiddled with the sleeve of his (stringless, thanks to his suicide attempt) hoodie, eyes focusing on another young man writing something across the room. He didn't seem completely hostile. Pete looked back down at his paper, and kept writing. Another kid who didn't make it. Starving artist. Dead poet. He snorted to himself. Kid that didn't make it, and never had it. He scribbled that down. He glanced back up, and saw another guy about his age looking at him. He debated about saying anything, and then turned his head back down anxiously. Patrick swallowed, glancing away before he headed to the opposite corner, flinching away from an angry looking older man before sitting stiffly, partially curled in on himself. Great. He wished they could just fucking sedate him or something. Pete's gaze lingered on him. He looked pretty fucking normal. And scared as shit. Same. He thought. Maybe he could catch his eye. He kept focusing on him, absentmindedly chewing on his fingers. Patrick tensed up a little at the feeling of being watched, swallowing nervously before he lifted his head. He relaxed slightly when he saw it was Unidentified Eyeliner Corner Guy. He gave him a tiny smile, trying to assess if he'd be someone he could talk to. He gave a tiny grin back, lifting his hand in a small wave. He could maybe interact with him. Pete hesitated, then beckoned him over. Patrick paused before getting up, heading over to him cautiously. 

"....Hi." He said, voice wobbly and small under the louder voices around them. "I'm Patrick." He said, extending a hand.

"Hello Patrick." Pete said gently, not sure how to react. "I'm Pete." He said. "You seem normal."

Patrick laughed, though the lack of truth to that statement stung a little. "...that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all day. You, um, you seem pretty normal too?"

"I tried to kill myself." He said coolly. "I suppose I'm normal."

He shrugged. "I'm here cause my dad saw me talking to my neighbor. My nonexistent neighbor. I suppose I'm not," he said, with a weak smile as he realized he'd probably just lost his only chance of befriending someone here.

Pete nodded. "Normal as far as crazy goes." He said. If that's the worst this guy did, he should be out of here. He gave him a small smile, trying to reassure him.

Patrick laughed, relaxing slightly. "...I guess." He said with a shrug, toying with his sleeve.

Pete looked out the window, watching the city. "You're the most normal person I've talked to." He said, giving Patrick a crooked smile. The orderlies came in to escort them back to their rooms. Pete gave Patrick a weak smile. "I'll see you later then?" He asked, slightly hopefully. Patrick nodded. 

"Yeah, yeah. See you." He said nervously, wringing his fingers. Pete gave him a wink before following his orderly, holding up his middle fingers so only Patrick could see them. Patrick gave a snort of laughter. He hoped that he'd see him again. Maybe he didn't think of him as crazy. Maybe he could survive in here.

**********************************************************************************************************

Patrick headed down the hall nervously, eyes on the ground, walking fast. The pills had helped, but this hadn't been a 'good' morning, and he felt like if anyone looked at him they'd see how fucking lost he was. He was too busy watching the floor to see anyone, and he ended up slamming into someone with a little yelp of surprise.  
Pete put his hands out quickly, holding Patrick's shoulders to steady him. 

"Hey Tricky." He said, trying to sound cheerful. His girlfriend had just visited, and well, she was now his ex-girlfriend. Pete swallowed, trying not to freak out, he wasn't sad, just angry. Patrick drew back slightly.

"...oh. Hi." He said, relaxing. "...sorry." Pete let go of him.

"It's okay. Where you off to in such a rush?" He asked, fiddling with his fingers anxiously.

He shrugged slightly. "...just wanted to get out of my room for a little while, you know?" Patrick said. That wasn't technically a lie. Pete nodded. 

"Mind if I join you?" He asked nervously. Patrick was the only person he talked to in here, he wasn't sure if they were friends or what but he seemed decent. He nodded immediately.

"No, of course not." He said in slight relief. Nobody had visited him in the week he'd been here, not even a fucking phone call, and he was so goddamn lonely. Pete seemed like a nice guy, and he was funny. He wasn't sure if they were friends, but he looked forward to talking to him. Pete began to walk along with him silently. He didn't want to irritate him, plus now wasn't a good time to speak. He'd probably rip his head off or something. Patrick didn't look at him as they walked, keeping silent out of nervousness. He seemed upset, and normally that's the kind of situation where you ask what's wrong, but given that they were both in a mental hospital, he wasn't sure how well that would work. Pete sighed. 

"Sorry I'm such shit company." He said, voice dark. "It sucks in here." Patrick blinked. 

"You're not, you're really not. Yeah. I know." He said sympathetically. "Did, um- are you okay? You seem off..." He said hesitantly.  
He looked at him. 

"My girlfriend- ex girlfriend now, came to see me. She said that 'my mental illness was too much of a strain'." He said. "Apparently my family feels the same." Patrick's eyes widened slightly.

"Oh." He said quietly. "That's....I'm really sorry. I want to say 'that sucks' but that doesn't really cover it." Pete smiled.

"Nah. It definitely fucking sucks." He said. "You're fucking right," He nodded. 

"...Yeah. I'm sorry. ...It's not like you wanted depression or any of this shit." Patrick stuttered out. Pete smirked. 

"Just like you didn't want this bullshit." He said. "It's not our fault." He said. The PTSD was his fathers fault. But hey. Whatever. Patrick shrugged slightly. "...Yeah. I don't think my dad even told the rest of my family I was here, to be honest. He seemed kind of glad he wouldn't have to deal with me." Pete watched him.

"Then it sounds like you're better off without him. I know that doesn't help, but yeah." He said. "You're doing pretty good. You haven't lost your shit yet." Patrick laughed quietly. "...thanks. Um. No, it's, I get it, I never really know the right thing to say either." Pete gave a sarcastic smile.

"How long are you in here for?" He asked, starting to relax. The other man shrugged. "Two more months, if I keep it together." He said jokingly. "What about you?" Pete swallowed.

"One month on good behavior." He said. It was close enough to a prison. Ha. "So anyways. They have me scheduled for an appointment with a shrink. They're gonna drug me up." He said, giving a harsh laugh. Patrick watched him, unsure whether to laugh or not. He settled on a half grimace, half smile. 

"See you later." Pete said, walking off.

"...See you." Patrick called lamely. He stared, and then headed back to his own room, fiddling with his sleeves.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick has a breakdown, Pete i the only one who can calm him down. Basically just more bonding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it hasn't been updated for a while. I moved, and had finals. Should be more regular updates now. Comments and criticism are welcome and appreciated.

Pete had been asleep. Actually sleeping well for the first time in two weeks. He had been here for two weeks now, and hated it. A nurse came in, and woke him up. Apparently Patrick was having an episode and was screaming for him. So he got up. He and Patrick were friends now. So he went. He stood outside the door, waiting for the all-clear.

Patrick's muffled sobs and screams came from inside, ranging from "get your fucking hands off of me" to just hysterical sobs of Pete's name. A doctor looked at him worriedly. 

"We've been trying to calm him down for about ten minutes, and he won't leave the room. We think you'd be able to help, but we also don't want to put you at risk. So um, there is a possibility that he'll lash out at you, I'm not going to lie." The doctor said.

"Get your fucking hands off him! That's not going to help! Do you know anything about him?" He said, trying to calm down. He knew Patrick hated it when people grabbed him. Fuck. "I don't care, I don't care. Let me in." He said.

The doctor bristled slightly. "Okay, sir, but you need to be calm, and if we need you to leave the room in any scenario, you need to be cooperative." He said, opening the door.

Pete shoved his way in. "Get out. Get your hands off him." He hissed to the orderlies. He stood in front of Patrick. "Patrick." He said quietly.

Patrick flinched away from him, breathing fast and uneven. He stood on wobbly legs, feeling cornered up against the wall. "Don't touch me, don't touch me, I'm sorry." he said, not seeing his face.

Pete shoved the doctors back, and backed away. "Patrick. No one is touching you. It's you and I. Just Pete and Patrick." He said, sitting down on the floor. He had no idea what the fuck he was doing, he had only handled his panic attacks.

Patrick watched him carefully, brushing at his arms to try to dismiss the feeling of being grabbed. He didn't sit, just backed up slightly. "They're lying to me, they won't let me out, I'm sorry, please let me out," he said in a barrage of words, trying to focus on Pete through his complete terror.

The doctors left, but then watched through the window in the door. "Okay Patrick. It's only you and I now." He said. "They're not lying. You have one month left. One month and then you're out. One month, Patrick. You didn't do anything wrong." He said, crossing his legs. "I see you. You're real. I'm real. Nothing else you're seeing is real." He said.

Patrick shook a little, easing himself to the ground, still keeping his distance. He looked at him carefully, eyes wary and scared. "I'm not gonna get out, I'm going to keep messing up, they're gonna keep me here," he stammered out, talking fast but a tiny bit calmer than before.

"They won't. This stuff happens. You're getting used to new medication." He said, putting a hand on the ground between them. "When you get out, I'll make sure you don't come back in. I'll be there. I'm here right now." He said quietly.

Patrick relaxed slightly, taking a shaky breath. He didn't reach for his hand, still hesitant. "...Okay." He said reluctantly, his hand going back to brushing at his arm.

Pete kept it there, not moving. "No one is touching you. It's only you and I in here. I promise. Look around the room Patrick. I promise nothing will touch you."

He swallowed. "...I know it's not real...I know they aren't...I'm just...I'm scared anyway." He hesitated before moving his hand to Pete's. "I'm sorry."

Pete slowly grabbed his hand. "It's perfectly fine to be scared. If I were you, I'd be scared." He said. "Doesn't make you any less of a person." He said quietly. "Don't be sorry. There's nothing to be sorry for."

Patrick froze up a little as he grabbed onto his hand, but managed to stay calm, though his palms started to sweat. "...thanks." He said softly.

"You like music don't you?" He asked. "Tell me about your favorite song. Why do you like it?" He asked, not squeezing just touching.

Patrick swallowed, looking at him. "...that's hard." He said in concentration. "...um. I like a lot of David Bowie, a lot of Michael Jackson...yeah, Thriller is probably one of my favorites..." He said indecisively.

He smiled. "I love David Bowie. Do you like Queen?" He asked, watching him. "I write songs. But only the lyrics." He said. "I can't write the actual music. Never comes out exactly right."

Patrick nodded. "Yeah. I do." He blinked. "Really? Is that what you were doing that one time with the marker?" He asked curiously, still a little shaky but calming down.

"Yeah. It's um. Yeah." He said. "Not very good at it. I'm more of a poet. But, I call them songs." He said. "Do you play any music?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I do. I um, I was in a couple of small bands, I was the drummer, before....this." He said quietly. "I try to write music sometimes, but uh, I usually never really do anything with it."

"Maybe you could look at my lyrics and fuck around with them." He said, trying to keep him distracted.

He nodded slightly, his free hand moving to tug at the edge of his sweater. "Yeah." He said quietly, eyes flickering away from him.

"Can I do anything to help you?" He asked quietly.

Patrick withdrew from him, removing his hand. "...it's fine."

"Okay. I won't let them touch you. I swear." He said. "Want me to just sit with you?"

Patrick hesitated before he nodded. "Can you close the door?" He asked hopefully, glancing up to where the doctors watched through the window.

He stood up slowly, closing it. "They need to keep the windows clear so that I don't hurt you." He said cheerfully. "I'm a danger to people around me."

Patrick smiled. "You're the guy who puts fruit flies in a cup so you don't have to kill them. I'm shaking." He said, relaxing a little.

Pete smiled slightly. "I'm bipolar. And apparently 'prone to fits of rage.'" He said with a. Laugh

Patrick just smiled. "Hey, I didn't hear any of this." He said with a little grin.

He laughed."Be warned. I'm very dangerous." He teased. "But I like you. Don't worry."

Patrick smiled, a genuine one, though it faded fast. "You know, you don't have to stay here," he said quietly. "I wouldn't blame you. You don't have to talk to me just to be nice or whatever."

"Dude. I like talking to you. You're the only person in here o want to talk to. " he said, watching him. "You're my friend."

Patrick swallowed. "Okay." He said uncertainly, meeting his eyes.

"I trust you. I think you're pretty great." He said. "Talking to imaginary neighbors included."

He gave him a weak smile back. "Thanks." He said sincerely."

"You're gonnae t out f here. I'm gonna make sure I stay the extra month with you." He said. "Punch a doctor or something."

He laughed. "No, don't. I mean, I appreciate it, but I think they'd resent me a little if you did that."

"But I'm mentally unstable." He said. "Besides." He muttered, flushing. "I'd miss you." He said.

Patrick blushed profusely. "...oh." He said quietly. "I'd miss you too." He said, looking up at him.

He smiled, a real smile. "Patrick Stump, I will stay in here until you get released. These people are crazy." He said, trying not to laugh.

Patrick smiled. "I know. Total basket cases." He said with wide eyes.

Pete smiled, then it faded. "I miss the physical contact. I miss being hugged. I've got an almost-niece out there, Ruby. I miss her. She's a minor, so she can't visit."

He nodded empathetically. "You um, we can, you can hug me?" He stammered, though it was more nervous than reluctant.

Pete blinked. "Are you sure?" He asked. He didn't want to force him to do something. "Will it help you right now or not?"

He shrugged. "I um. I don't mind. As long as you're not like, aggressively tackle-hugging, I'm okay."

Pete blinked. "I didn't plan on it." He said. "Come here?" He asked, holding his arms out, still on the floor

Patrick hesitated slightly uncomfortably, still on edge, before he moved towards him. He put his arms around him gently, wishing that he could make the only friend he had right now as happy as he should be.

Pete gently wrapped his arms around him, not wanting to overwhelm him. Jesus. He missed this. The human contact. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to keep the tears down that threatened to overwhelm him.

Patrick leaned against him slightly, surprised that he didn't feel trapped, he felt safe. He took a deep breath, relaxing somewhat. Pete was warm and nice and not squeezing him too tight and it was probably the happiest he'd been in a while.

Pete took a deep breath, and relaxed against him. "Thank you." He whispered, leaning his head on his shoulder. He felt secure, as if nothing would happen. He could stay there forever, and never be harmed.

Patrick smiled slightly, not responding, just gently patting his back in a slow rhythm, leaning against him.

Pete relaxed against him. "I would give anything to see their faces." He said. "They must think that somethings wrong with us."

Patrick laughed quietly. "I mean, they wouldn't be wrong..."

Pete smiled. "Yeah. But. This is nice. This is good crazy." He said.

Patrick smiled. "It is. I um. I really appreciate everything, by the way." He said, pulling back slightly.

Pete relaxed his grip, allowing him to leave if he wanted. "Thanks for talking H to me."

Patrick pulled back just slightly. "I should be thanking you for that. I'm um, I'm sorry. That's too much to ask from a friend, dealing with me like...that." He said, looking at his feet guiltily.

"It's not. You're my friend. Friends do that stuff for each other." He said. "You had an episode." He said. "It's okay. I'm not upset."

He nodded slightly. "...thanks." He said quietly, meeting his eyes.

He gave a half smile. "Of course." He said. "You'd do it for me."

Patrick nodded. "Yeah." He said seriously. He glanced at the window. "...I hate that." He said quietly. "Not the people, but like, the window. I hate not knowing if someone's watching me."

Pete nodded. "Yeah. It's like we're not even human." He said quietly, stroking Patrick's back absentmindedly.

Patrick didn't pull away, just nodded. He still was kind of numb, still processing everything he'd done and said, how impossibly real everything was even though they told him he was wrong.

Pete looked at him. "Tell me what you're thinking?" He asked. "That's what my friend always told me. He said it would help me. He was right." He said.

He swallowed, eyes flickering to his feet. "It's nothing." He said quietly. He was terrified of losing him, of being alone here.

"There's nothing you could tell me that would make me leave." He said. "I'm not afraid. You don't frighten me."

He exhaled. "It's um, it's just. I-not right now?"

"Yeah." He said. "Not right now." He said. "You're gonna be okay." He said. "You're good, you know that? I hate people, but I like talking to you."

Patrick smiled weakly. "...thanks." He said quietly, not moving closer or farther away, just staying with him.

Pete nodded. "Are you okay?" He asked

He didn't meet his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." He said quietly. "....You should probably go before they get worried."

"Do you want me to go?" He asked. "If you want me here, I'm not leaving."

Patrick just shrugged absentmindedly. "...maybe you should go." He said after a little while.

He stood up slowly. "Will you be there for breakfast in the morning?" He asked.

He hesitated. "......yeah. Yeah, I think so," he said, nodding slightly.

He smiled, relief showing through his features. "I'll be the one with the sweatshirt and the pants." He joked, referring to the uniform outfits.

He laughed quietly. "...yeah, I'll keep an eye out." He said, forcing a smile.

Pete nodded. "Just a few more days." He said softly. "Bite the doctors." He said, opening the door.

Patrick smiled slightly, waiting till he had left to get on his bed, pulling his legs into his body, head on his knees.

Pete leaned against the door. Shit. Trick didn't realize how amazing he was. He went back to his room before completely breaking down. This place would kill him.


End file.
